The Hope Of The Future Lies Not

We All Strive For Safety, Prosperity, Comfort, Long Life, And Dullness. The Deer Strives With His Supple Legs, The Cowman With Trap And Poison, The Statesman With Pen, The Most Of Us With Machines, Votes, And Dollars. A Measure Of Success In This Is All Well Enough, And Perhaps Is A Requisite To Objective Thinking, But Too Much Safety Seems To Yield Only Danger In The Long Run. Perhaps This Is Behind Thoreau's Dictum: In Wilderness Is The Salvation Of The World. Perhaps This Is The Hidden Meaning In The Howl Of The Wolf, Long Known Among Mountains, But Seldom Perceived Among Men.

If In A City We Had Six Vacant Lots Available To The Youngsters Of A Certain Neighborhood For Playing Ball, It Might Be "development" To Build Houses On The First, And The Second, And The Third, And The Fourth, And Even The Fifth, But When We Build Houses On The Last One, We Forget What Houses Are For.

The Last Word In Ignorance Is The Man Who Says Of An Animal Or Plant: 'what Good Is It?

Civilization Has So Cluttered This Elemental Man-earth Relationship With Gadgets And Middlemen That Awareness Of It Is Growing Dim. We Fancy That Industry Supports Us, Forgetting What Supports Industry.

Ability To See The Cultural Value Of Wilderness Boils Down, In The Last Analysis, To A Question Of Intellectual Humility. The Shallow-minded Modern Who Has Lost His Rootage In The Land Assumes That He Has Already Discovered What Is Important.